TWENTY-FOUR

DEATH NEVER COMES AT THE RIGHT TIME,
DESPITE WHAT MORTALS BELIEVE.
DEATH ALWAYS COMES LIKE A THIEF
CHRISTOPHER PIKE, THE LAST VAMPIRE

THE FLAT was pitch black when Aspen's feet landed against the boys' living room carpet that night. It must have been past midnight, and she noted the strong smell of Firewhisky that seemed to linger in the air. One glance at the coffee table confirmed her suspicions. An almost empty bottle perched there, accompanied by two glasses, each containing the final remaining dregs of the honey-coloured liquid.

She kicked her shoes off at the door, padding carefully across the floor until she reached the hallway. She could just hear the noise of George's snoring over the quiet, something he only really did after a few drinks, and she would have found it humorous if the weight of her news wasn't hanging heavily over her chest. Instead, she pushed open the door to Fred's adjacent room, and entered quietly.

To her surprise, he was still awake. His eyes were rimmed red, looking exhausted, but it was clear he'd struggled to fall asleep with the uncertainty of Aspen - and his family's - fate on his mind. When she trudged into the room, his face lit up and he threw back the covers, stumbling across the floor in only his plaid pyjama bottoms to engulf her in a hug.

"You're okay," he said, as if he'd convinced himself she wouldn't be. He released a dense sigh of relief into her hair. "Thank Merlin you're okay. What happened?"

"He's dead," she said numbly, her words muffled against his bare shoulder. "Dumbledore. He's dead."

There was a moment of shocked silence, as if Fred had not heard her correctly. They stood, arms wrapped around one another like some sort of security blanket, and yet neither had felt so exposed in their lives. They had never known a world without Dumbledore, and the prospect of it terrified them both. He was a guaranteed protector in an unsettling world, and without him, fear began to trickle in, like water from a broken tap.

"That's not funny, Aspen," Fred said bluntly, his chin resting against her shoulder. "You don't mean that."

"I do," she said quietly, blinking back tears as the reality began to sink in. "He's gone. Snape killed him."

"Snape?" Fred asked, voice raised in disbelief, and Aspen almost told him to be quiet in fear of waking George. Then, as if common sense was just kicking in, she realised that was not the end of her news, and rather, both twins should be there to hear it after all.

"We need to wake George, love," Aspen said, a lump settling uncomfortably in her throat. "There's something else..."

"What? What else?" Fred asked impatiently, and Aspen reluctantly detached herself from his embrace. He tugged desperately at her hand, needing to know what had happened.

She winced, still aching from the evening's altercations, and when he noticed, he let go, looking dreadfully sorry. Together, they crept through the dark hallway, wands in hand as they knocked on George's door.

"George, mate?" Fred called through, hoping he was loud enough to wake his brother.

There was a grumble from within, and the rustling of covers as he twisted in his sleep, searching for a more comfortable position. Aspen and Fred shared an uneasy look, and desperate for the rest of her news, he banged on the door once again.

"What is it?" George groaned, and they heard the distinctive sound of his feet slamming onto the carpet. "I was asleep!"

Miraculously, it was as though George had forgotten the evening's tensions in his sleep deprived state. Still, the door burst open seconds later, and George's anger at the disruption dissipated immediately at the sight of Aspen. She hadn't washed since she'd came home, and dirt and dried blood still caked her clothing in patches. Tears were still pooling around her eyes, and without a word, he felt inclined to swoop down and hug her.

"Are you alright?" he asked immediately, almost brotherly in his intentions of comforting her. "What's happened, Pen?"

"Dumbledore's dead."

It was Fred who had said it this time, voice barren and flat as he stared over at his brother. The darkness concealed their expressions, but even in the dim light that escaped the tip of Fred's wand, George's shock was evident.

"There's no way," he said abruptly, jaw slack as he stared on in disbelief.

"Listen, I have to tell you both something. I think we should sit," Aspen said, pulling herself together as she processed the difficult news she was about to share.

The three traipsed through to the living room. George's eyes were still thick with sleep as the boys sat back against the couch, filling the spaces they'd left only an hour or so ago. Aspen stood before them, as if she were presenting in a classroom, but the reality was much sadder than that.

"While we were fighting," she said, deciding there was no way to go about this other than to rip off the band-aid. "Bill was... attacked."

"Our brother?" George asked, as if they knew anyone else called Bill. "Is he okay?"

"He... he will be. But now," she paused, considering her words. "Well, he was attacked by Fenrir Greyback."

"Greyback!" Fred exclaimed, leaping out of his seat to pace around the room. "He's the bastard that got Lupin, too!"

George was still stationed on the couch. Whether it was because of shock or fatigue, Aspen was unsure, but he stared lamely ahead at her, as if willing her to go on. Fred — who was scraping his fingers through his hair and silently planning some sort of revenge attack — did not seem as focused on the story, but she continued regardless.

"He's alright. Greyback wasn't transformed when it happened, but his face," Aspen paused, sucking in a deep breath as images of Bill's mutilated flesh sprang up in her mind. "Merlin, his face is pretty messy. Pomfrey tried to fix it, but nothing worked. He was practically unrecognisable. He's going to have scars, and lots of them at that."

"Fuck," George said softly, the word rolling of his tongue slowly as he processed the information. "Poor Bill. He always liked to think he was the fittest, didn't he?"

Fred let out a warped snort of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. It was almost comical how distorted the world seemed to have become in the last few years, and everyone in the room began to wonder if they were perhaps just living in some sort of sick, twisted dream. Fred crossed the room, pulling the clearly rather traumatised Aspen into his arms for another embrace. George watched, and within a moment, he had joined in, until the three were hugging silently in the middle of the dark living room. They must have looked ridiculous, but Aspen didn't care - it was the safest she'd felt all night.

"This is so fucked," Fred mumbled, and they all sniffled out a jolt of poorly timed laughter. He couldn't have been any more accurate if he'd tried.

DAYS LATER, Aspen found herself back at the scene of the crime. It was almost haunting to see Hogwarts in the day, so peaceful in a direct juxtaposition with the chaos she'd seen upon her last visit. The sun was beating down overhead, a sign that summer was approaching, and yet it didn't feel like it used to when she was a carefree student. She remembered days lounging by the lake, hidden underneath the shade of the oak trees as she studied - or rather, procrastinated - for her exams. She remembered laughing with Tonks beneath the sunshine in their final days before the summer holidays, or watching Quidditch in the stands with her fellow Hufflepuffs. This, however, was a different atmosphere entirely; the sun was mocking their grief with every passing moment.

People had travelled far and wide for Dumbledore's funeral. Alessia had informed Aspen of the screaming match Seamus and his mother had had when he refused to leave, and consequently, the struggle she'd had finding somewhere to stay in Hogsmeade with the arrival of mourners from all over the country. Aspen could see now that Dumbledore had more friends than any of them were aware of, and in fact, the rows of seats that had been set out for the funeral were like a sea, stretching as far as the eye could see and engulfed in black.

The rest of the Weasleys - including Fleur, who was diligently supporting Bill - had settled in a row near the middle, and Aspen and the twins had followed closely. She imagined this was especially bizarre for them. Hogwarts had been the place they'd spent late evenings and early mornings designing their products or terrorising unsuspecting students with their pranks. They'd never have expected to come back under such terrible terms, and in fact, this was now a tragic memory that clouded over their adolescence.

Remus and Tonks sat together not far away, and Aspen felt a brilliant warmth bubbling inside of her at the sight of them holding hands. It was almost a shame that they'd needed catastrophe to guide them together, but perhaps it was perfect timing. Both had been friends of Dumbledore, and they desperately needed the support of each other in as trying a time as this.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Alessia arrived together shortly after, filing into a row near the front beside the lake. Aspen almost couldn't see them over the ocean of heads that sat between them, but she could just make out the two vivid gingers and her own sister's thick mop of curls. They had not stopped to talk, and although Aspen was dejected, she understood why - Harry and his best friends were perhaps mourning most of all, having been left with a seemingly impossible task to navigate without their previous mentor's guidance. They didn't need trivial small talk or sympathies right now.

"Who'd have guessed Dumbledore had this many friends?" Fred whispered from in between George and Aspen, nudging each of them to catch their attention.

"Well, he was over a hundred, mate," said George. "He's had more than enough time to socialise."

Aspen would have laughed if she hadn't been paying attention to the horde of Ministry workers on the other side of the aisle. Scrimgeour was sat beside McGonagall in the front row, sporting a rather grave expression, but she was sure that there was some ulterior motive in his attendance. Fudge was there too, looking deceivingly miserable, and less convincing, Umbridge had turned up. She was certain that, had the situation not been so inappropriate, the twins would have set about with yet another prank to make her irate, much like they had as they left Hogwarts.

"I don't think everyone's a friend," she said quietly, motioning as subtly as she could towards the crowd from the Ministry. "I reckon Dumbledore would've laughed if he saw them here, faking their grief like that."

The twins looked in unison, and Aspen watched as their expression's darkened at the very sight of Umbridge. Toadlike as ever, her misery was very unconvincing. In fact, if you were close enough, there was almost a delighted twinkle in her eye, masked by the crocodile tears she was forcing out.

"What a bitch," George said sourly, turning away as if looking at her for too long would damage his eyes. "She's got a right cheek coming here. Dumbledore'd be fuming-"

George cut himself off suddenly. His eyes - and Fred's for that matter - were trained to something moving slowly, gliding as if in a trance. Aspen swivelled in her seat, and watched as Hagrid traipsed slowly down the aisle. Tears trickled mournfully down his cheeks, disappearing into his beard as he carried Dumbledore's body, draped majestically in purple velvet adorned with gold stars. It was really settling in now that he would never come back, and Aspen felt her chest tighten, as if she couldn't breathe. The twins were ghostly white, their pale flesh sticking out visibly against their ginger hair. In the arms of the half-giant, Dumbledore's frame looked frail and almost, Aspen hated to say, weak. It was a terrifying sight that she almost couldn't bare.

A short man in smart black robes stood before them all then. He spoke about death, Dumbledore's life, but it all felt irrelevant. It was a lovely speech, but Aspen couldn't help but think it meant nothing in relation to their old Headmaster. "Nobility of spirit" and "greatness of heart" were both things Dumbledore was not lacking in the slightest, but it felt wrong to reduce to him to such few words. Still, it was enough to make several tears dribble down her cheeks, and she slipped her hand into Fred's for some much-needed comfort.

It seemed even the mermaids and centaurs had come to pay their respects, dipping their heads out from beneath the shivering water and the trembling trees. It was only a testament to Dumbledore's effect on the Wizarding World, and Aspen watched on as the short man finished his speech that didn't hold a candle to the real wonder that was their old headmaster and more importantly, friend.

There was a chilling space of silence. Aspen wondered if someone else would move to speak - McGonagall, the Minister, anyone at all. Instead, the delicate summer breeze whistled in their ears, and the crowd sat, waiting and mourning in unison. Aspen leant her head against Fred's shoulder, hoping he didn't mind that her tears were dripping onto the sleeve of his suit. She gazed down at his lap, unable to face the sorry sight of Dumbledore's concealed body anymore - it was too strong a reminder that nothing would ever be the same again. With her eyes averted, her heart fell at the sound of the terrified screams from across the aisle. Had they come back to finish the job?

No. Instead, she glanced up to see bright white flames erupting around the table on which Dumbledore lay. He was obscured by the light, smoke spiralling upwards and disappearing into the deep blue above. Then, as quickly as it had began, the flames were gone, and in their place, a dazzling marble tomb in which Dumbledore was encased for forever. The centaurs, from across the water, released a shower of arrows that soared across the lake and landed gracefully on the banks; a tribute. Then, as if they'd seen all they needed to, they returned to their forest, and likewise, the mermaids sunk back beneath the water.

"So that's it," George said slowly as the crowd quietly descended into conversation again. "He's gone."

The trio stood as one and shimmied their way out of the aisle. They stopped at the edge, giving a hug and a kiss to Molly each, who was still sobbing miserably into her handkerchief. Then, they departed, striding past the final rows where Hagrid sat to stroll out across the large plane of grass ahead. Facing death so directly was enough to make Aspen's head spin, and she was thankful for their well-timed escape. They did not speak, for there was nothing more to be said. Instead, they walked until the sight of the funeral was a mere speck in the distance. Aspen wondered if this were what it would have been like had she been at school with the twins, roaming around the grounds together.

By the time they had stopped, they had ascended the slope that lead towards the castle, and looped around towards the west where the Quidditch pitch lay, empty. They stood, feeling helplessly small amongst the open grass pitch, surrounded by the spectator stands that towered over them. The twins remembered fondly the years that they had played as Gryffindor's beaters, and yet those happy memories seemed years away now. Instead, they were replaced with the heart-wrenching ache in their chests at the reminder that Dumbledore was gone, and with him, their safety net.

"I just want you two to know," Aspen said, testing the words on her tongue as her voice shook from the weight of her tears. "I love you both so much. If anything happens, I just want you to know that."

"Don't say that," Fred said sharply, and for the first time, she wondered if he were going to cry. "Nothing will happen to any of us. We're in it for the long run, all three of us."

He hooked his arms around George and Aspen's shoulders, tugging them into a hug much like the one they'd shared in the flat the evening of Dumbledore's death. Aspen, the shortest of the three by far, buried her head in Fred's chest, her arms around their waists. They were a mess of limbs, and yet there was a bizarre comfort as they stood there together, feeling the warmth of the mid-summer sun on their backs.

It was funny how everything could go wrong so suddenly. Although just weeks ago things had been looking up, life had crashed down at their feet once again. And yet, living in the midst of disaster, Fred, George and Aspen were consoled by one simple fact: they would always have each other, and that was almost enough. Almost.